While the rest of the nation prepared to mark the Fourth of July by consuming charred lumps of meat and blowing stuff up, a gleeful mob was descending on unsuspecting Anaheim, Calif., for a very different kind of celebration. Called AX, or simply "the Expo" by its organizers and its legion of eager attendees, it too commemorated a declaration of independence . . . in this case, from the dull shackles of reality.

Breach the glass-and-concrete bunker of the Anaheim Convention Center on Expo weekend, and you pass into a parallel dimension populated by pink-haired schoolgirls and DIY 'droids, portly alien invaders and bespectacled ninja assassins. It's a place where little things like race and gender and nationality take a backseat to more important distinctions, like whether you prefer dubs or subtitles. A world where an ordinary guy can be a hero, a king -- or hell, a magical fairy princess.

Anime Expo is now in its 14th year as North America's largest annual conclave of Japanese animation enthusiasts, and according to 2005 Expo chair Darold Higa, its popularity has risen steadily over its decade and a half of existence. "Last year, we had about 25,000 attendees," says Higa. "This year, based on preregistrations alone, we're expecting well over 30,000. We're actually averaging about 20 percent annual growth, year over year."

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AX's brisk expansion has been in part a reflection of the rapid assimilation of anime into American pop culture. The '90s saw Japanese animation go from cult pastime to Blockbuster mainstay to children's TV staple seemingly overnight. But while Higa acknowledges a quantum spike in Expo attendance because of the "Pokemon generation," he's quick to point out that even the youngest AXites show a remarkable degree of sophistication: "These kids were exposed much earlier than we were. We experienced anime as adults, but they were raised on it, and now they're reaching consumer maturity."

The fan mix isn't just getting younger -- it's also getting more diverse. Lawrence Eng, a doctoral candidate at Renssaeler Polytechnic Institute who's made the anime fan community the primary focus of his research, remembers the era when he first became a fan, back in the early '90s. "When I first started going to conventions, everyone looked like me: males in their late 20s and 30s, a lot of them Asian," he says. "Now at AX, there are so many women there; they make up at least 50 percent of the attendees, maybe more. And you have people from every race and background. It's become much more of a normal distribution now."

AX's Higa suggests three major factors that have opened up anime fandom to the masses. The first is widespread televising of anime, both on cable channels and network TV. Secondly, while broadcasters used to do their best to hide the Japanese origins of televised anime, they now flaunt them -- calling their program blocs things like "Toonami" and "Anime Unleashed." Of course, once you've identified Japan as the source of the 'toons you love, it's a very short step to seeking out more -- and these days, major video retailers have entire sections dedicated to anime, making it easier than ever before to dive into the deep end of fandom.

Fans on Film

It's the existence of that "deep end" that helps separate anime from its Western-cartoon counterparts. Kids dig Pixar flicks, but relatively few are prompted to collect closets full of obscure Nemo paraphernalia, or dress up as Buzz Lightyear on days other than October 31. Anime fandom, on the other hand, not only inspires such behavior, it actively encourages it. Indeed, the initiated know that anime isn't just an entertainment medium, it's a lifestyle choice.

As Eric Bresler, director of "Otaku Unite!" -- the first feature-length documentary on the history of anime fandom in America -- puts it, "There's a strange and amazing passion some of these fans have that drives them to involve fandom in all aspects of their lives, to spend all of their free time dedicated to their hobby of choice. Not just watching TV. They organize fan subtitling groups, they dress up in costumes, they come up to you and talk for 45 minutes straight about this thing they love, whether you're listening or not. They've got this frenetic, kinetic energy about them. . . . It's a whole way of life."

"Otaku Unite!," Bresler's first feature, originated as a 15-minute film-school short that took four months to shoot and nearly a year and a half to complete, in part because, throughout the production, Bresler found himself getting contacted by anime fans who wanted to share their experiences or chime in with their opinions. "We had such a following at that point, it just seemed that the right thing to do was to go ahead and make feature," he says.

It also became clearer to him as the project evolved that anime fandom had moved into a central role in the pop marketplace. "You'd go to Suncoast Video, and you'd see that the anime section was larger than any other part of the store," says Bresler. "Even my parents know what anime is, and that's like the final test of whether something has gone mainstream."

Otaku Pride and Prejudice

Bresler's instincts were sound. Last week, Central Park Media announced that it would pick up "Otaku Unite!" for distribution alongside its library of such popular anime titles as "Revolutionary Girl Utena" and "Patlabor." CPM licensing supervisor Bochan Kim called it a "comprehensive and compelling introduction" to anime fandom -- that is to say, to the culture and community of the American otaku.

The term "otaku" is a label that U.S. anime fans have embraced with half-deprecating, half-defiant pride -- using it similarly to the way that software coders and other techie types have embraced the term "geek"; indeed, geek is often used as a loose synonym by mainstream media, though this translation fails to deliver on the layers of meaning embedded in the Japanese original.

In its standard usage, otaku (literally, "your house") is an extremely formal way of saying "you"; an English equivalent might be "thou." In the early '80s, the term was adopted as self-referential slang by hard-core anime fans in Japan, possibly because the lead character in the most popular series of the time, the SF epic "Super Dimensional Fortress Macross" tended to idiosyncratically use "otaku" in addressing other characters, rather than the colloquial "anata."

The term spread like wildfire in the fan community, and it's easy to see why. The expression conveyed a comically excessive level of respect -- a wry tweak of self-mockery for a group of individuals who had largely gone through life receiving nothing but disdain; at the same time, it highlighted the sense of displacement that this group felt from society at large. To outsiders, these fans were so removed, so incomprehensible, that they could only be addressed with a term one might use with a complete stranger -- or, perhaps, an alien being.

Neighboring geek domains embraced the expression as well. Soon hard-core manga fans, gadget enthusiasts and video-gamers began referring to themselves and one another as "otaku" with rebellious pride, recognizing a term that allowed a diverse group of intelligent, imaginative outcasts to wear their passions -- however odd those might be -- on their sleeves.

Then, in 1989, came the shocking event known as the "Otaku Murders." Twenty-seven-year-old Tsutomu Miyazaki was a part-time clerk at a local copy shop -- undistinguished, unassuming and mostly unnoticed by coworkers and neighbors alike. Unnoticed, that is, until the cops traced a lead in a series of gruesome child killings to his apartment, and discovered homemade murder/molestation videos amidst his enormous trove of slasher films and pornographic manga.

Miyazaki's manga obsession was instantly tabbed as the inspiration for his horrific acts. Hysterical headlines screamed of the danger that anime, manga and otaku-ism in general spelled for Japan's youth. Legislators moved to ban or restrict the sale of adult-themed comics and animation. In the States, a generation of newly minted converts was absorbing the gospel of otaku from such sources as the legendary 1991 mockumentary "Otaku No Video," produced by Gainax -- a wildly popular anime studio whose founders, such as "OtaKing" Toshio Okada, were Japan's most vocal and notorious proponents of otaku pride.

But, as sociologist Sharon Kinsella wrote in "The Journal of Japanese Studies," for the nation's homegrown otaku population, the early '90s were marked by constant attempts at censorship; oppressive tabloid assaults (one anthropologist, Otsuka Eiji, was frequently quoted in the press as warning that, with over 100,000 otaku in Japan, the nation had been infiltrated by a "standing army of murderers"); and repeated harassment campaigns that led to the arrests of five manga booksellers and the detainment and interrogation of 74 young manga artists by police.

Otaku Get Sexy

All of this makes it even more startling that, a decade later, a curious new appreciation of otaku has arisen in the land that first spawned and then rejected them. Self-professed "otaku artists," such as Takashi Murakami and his Superflat school, have draped geek pursuits like anime and video-gaming in white-hot chic. Last October, actor Suzuki Matsuo made his directorial debut with the hit movie "Otakus in Love," an adaptation of a shoujo (girls') manga featuring cameos by a cluster of otaku icons -- cult directors Shinya Tsukamoto ("Tetsuo") and Takashi Miike ("Ichi the Killer"), anime auteur Hideaki Anno ("Neon Genesis Evangelion") and a trio of popular manga artists: Kotobuki Shiriagari ("Yajikita in DEEP"), Shungiku Uchida ("Minami's Girlfriend") and Naoki Yamamoto ("Dance Till Tomorrow"). That same month, a book called "Densha Otoko," or "Train Man" -- adapted from, of all things, a set of bulletin board postings by an otaku requesting advice on how to approach a gorgeous woman he met on a train -- was released by major publishing house Shinchosha. The book became an instant best-seller, moving over 500,000 copies and spawning a film adaptation that debuted at No. 1 when it was released last month. The book, which has been avidly purchased by men, women, teens and senior citizens alike, recently passed 1 million copies sold.

The resurgent appeal of otaku isn't just being reflected in the arts. Last December, a prestigious technology think tank, Nomura Research Institute, released a paper titled "The Otaku Group From a Business Perspective: Revaluation of Enthusiastic Consumers." Its findings created a dramatic buzz in the economic community: It suggested that over 2 percent of the Japanese population -- 2.85 million people -- could be categorized as otaku, and that this market segment was responsible for generating over $2.6 billion in purchases in support of their preferred hobbies. "A common aspect of these enthusiastic consumers is that their consumption behavior is driven by admiration, sympathy, and pursuit of their 'ideals,'" wrote lead researcher Ken Kitabayashi. "Their passion and creativity will be the driving force for bringing about industrial innovation. Business should not treat enthusiastic consumers merely as 'loyal customers' but rather study their consumption behavior to find seeds of innovation."

The report presented the otaku market in both socioeconomic and anthropological terms, positing that five major areas of geek activity -- manga, anime, pop-idol worship, video-gaming and PC tuning -- had begun to merge, because of overlaps in membership and cross-pollination of content; it also diagrammed an otaku "spiral of consumption" similar to "stars around a huge gravitational field," in which otaku become hamaru, or "hooked on," a certain genre, and find themselves orbiting around it at tighter and tighter circuits and faster and faster speeds.

Unlike earlier research studies, which focused on suggesting ways to break this "perverse" and "immature" cycle of behavior, the NRI paper celebrates the fervor of the otaku as an engine for creativity, invention and, of course, the purchase of mass quantities of commercial product. Indeed, the report suggests that, in a nation mired in a period of stagnant productivity, otaku should be seen not as a social problem but as an economic and cultural solution.

They have pioneered revolutionary advances in consumer electronics, such as personal video recorders. Their zeal for perfection and deep knowledge of technology makes them an important base for beta testing and new product development.

And lest it be forgotten, their tastes have functionally shaped the most successful Japanese entertainment genres ever to be exported -- manga and anime, which the Japan External Trade Organization (JETRO) believes will grow into a $100 billion global market. Given that all of Japan's exports combined amounted to just under $450 billion in 2003, this is a staggering suggestion -- yet plausible, if one considers that anime and anime-related merchandise sales in the United States surpassed $5.2 billion in 2003, and according to JETRO, is eventually expected to develop into a market over $43 billion in size.

Our Geeks Are Bigger Than Your Geeks

In an April 11, 2005, interview with the Web site Anime News Network, Tomohiro Machiyama, author of 1989's "Book of the Otaku," the best-seller that first made the Japanese mainstream aware of the otaku community, put a triumphant spin on the otaku renaissance. "Asians can now identify themselves proudly as otaku," he said. "Even the Tokyo government is recognizing that otaku power is the key to breaking out of the economic recession. The first time around, otaku were thought to be pedophilic child killers. Now, they are leading the Japanese economy."

Machiyama even goes so far as to say that otaku are Japan's competitive advantage against American global cultural dominance. "American otaku want to be apprentices of Japanese otaku, like Jedi Knights," he said. "During the sixties, the U.S. was thought to be the most advanced nation in the world. . . . Americans thought that Superman, Spider-Man, and Disneyland would conquer Asia and Europe. But no! Now America is being invaded by Japanese culture, [and] I like this very much. Hollywood product still rules the media, but America is not number one anymore."

On the other hand, AX's Darold Higa suggests that the U.S. breed of otaku are not to be sneered at either. "I've heard some of our Japanese guests of honor say, 'Wow, I think American anime fans are even more passionate than Japanese fans,'" he says. Not that he believes a U.S.-Japan otaku arms race is likely to ever happen. "The fact is, both fandoms look at each other as being completely cool. I said in my speech at the Expo's opening ceremonies that if anime fans ruled the world, it'd be a much more peaceful place -- much more embracing of new cultures. It'd be a world based on sharing boxes of Pocky and cans of Ramune soda."

He pauses to think.

"Well, there'd still be big guns. But also a lot more cultural understanding."

* * * *

PopMail:

I'm filing this week's column under severe schedule duress -- I spent my Fourth of July on what was supposed to be a tranquil family getaway to a beach house in Cape Cod. To quote Robert Burns, "the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley" -- and an agley weekend it was.

First came notice that our intended vacation swap was unavailable -- literally hours before our five-hour drive and a last-minute scramble to find alternative housing. And, of course, where there are beach vacations, there must be rain -- which we had, in torrents, on both the drive up and the drive down. Luckily, the days in between were beautiful -- or they would have been, if my son hadn't decided to throw my PDA with all of my article notes on it into the dog's water bowl, and if the dog in question had not decided to attack a skunk as we were just preparing to clean the house and leave.

Fortunately, after some gadgety fits and starts, the PDA miraculously revived itself; the dog still stinks to high heaven, even after we did our best to de-funk him (no tomato juice, so we mashed a bunch of leftover cherry tomatoes and made a sort of doggy bruschetta). Let's just say the ride back home to New York was, to quote Britney Spears, "Toxic."

All the excitement put me behind the eight-ball on finishing this piece, but my editor is supercool, and having a toddler has taught me that sleep is at best a luxury, so somehow, everything got done. A few quickie responses to reader mail before I go collapse: Thanks to Frank L. for the thumbs up -- and for signing off as "Overbearing Asian Dad"; I laughed out loud. Also to Cynthia Y. for feeling my pain at almost naming my hypothetical daughter "Brook Lynn" -- saved by the Y chromosome, I guess. And to Cynthia C., for sharing her memories of her own dad as a "modern Asian pop" ahead of his time. And lastly to Jim in Jacksonville, Fla.: You're right, these are indeed the good times. Even when your kid's baptizing your handheld in doggy backwash. . . .

And as for the rest of you: Drop me a line -- would love to hear what you think!

Jeff Yang is author of "Once Upon a Time in China: A Guide to the Cinemas of Hong Kong, Taiwan and Mainland China" (Atria Books) and co-author of "I Am Jackie Chan: My Life in Action" (Ballantine) and "Eastern Standard Time" (Mariner/Houghton Mifflin). He lives in New York City.

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